


young love, murder

by skeletalparade (boythighs)



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boythighs/pseuds/skeletalparade
Summary: “I am very sorry to hear that, Julian.” He said, voice betraying nothing. There was that pain in his chest again, every nerve ending on fire, body unsure of what to do. Julian made the decision for both of them, moving from his chair to come to a kneel next to Asra’s.This. This was familiar – admittedlytoofamiliar, in a way that stabbed Asra through what remained of his coal stained heart, eyes sliding to Julian’s face as he gazed up at Asra through his long, long lashes. Asra released his breath heavily.“Something is wrong with you tonight.” Julian said, running a gloved hand along the top of Asra’s thigh gently. It should have been soothing. Instead, it felt burdenous, rooting, deadweight keeping him firmly in place.





	young love, murder

**Author's Note:**

> if you want something soft and happy, you've come to the wrong place on this one. 
> 
> also, don't ask me about the timeline, because even _i'm_ not all that sure. i just wanted to write angst, haha.

The sweet aroma of the cauldron filled the room, swirling tendrils of serpentine smoke dissipating into the air as Asra slowly stirred. Every so often, the wooden spoon in his hand would bump against the side of the pot, but aside from that the room, as well as the shop proper remained, mostly, silent. From the other room, separated from the witch by nothing more than a sheer curtain of purple and gold fabric, Asra could hear the telltale signs of entry. It gave him no start, for why should it, when he knew exactly who it was that had deemed him worthy of such a late-night visit?

“You know, you’re never as quiet as you think you’re being.” Asra said in lieu of a greeting as the curtain was pulled aside, a heavy coat tossed onto the old table tucked into the corner of the room.

“Is that so? I think that perhaps that is only because you are always expecting me.” Teasing.

Behind him was the towering presence of the man, his shadow black as sin against the wall, haloed by the burning glow of the flames beneath the cauldron. Asra smiled something small, giving the liquid a final stir before removing the spoon, setting it down on a towel spread before the hearth, and turned halfway in his seat to look at his guest. He could only snort at the sight that greeted him.

“Take _off_ that ridiculous mask, Julian,” Asra said on the crest of his laughter, amused further by the scowl forming on barely visible lips.

“It isn’t ridiculous, it’s _necessary_.” Came Julian’s tart reply, long, slender fingers raising to remove the elongated leather from his face as bid nevertheless. In the low light of the room, with nothing but the fire to illuminate him, his features were more beautiful than Asra could ever recall them being.

His chest throbbed, pang of pain shooting lightning potent through his veins.

Julian fell back into the lone armchair behind him, left leg crossing over the right as he settled his mask in his lap. Exhaustion exhaled from him in a long groan, head tilting back against the plush headrest. His posture was slouched, relaxed, and Asra could not yet bring himself to disrupt such ease. Small talk, then, would suffice for the time being.

“Long day?” He asked, purple gaze roaming over the length of Julian’s body freely. There was no tension to be found, at least not in Julian. Asra could not say the same for himself. His entire body felt tight with the insurmountable tension he felt, though he did his best to keep it hidden.

“Dreadfully.” Julian’s eyes had fallen shut but he opened them now, looking at Asra down his nose from across the small distance separating them. The room was small, quaint; tucked away in the back of the store behind the front desk, shuttered away and crammed against the staircase that led to the apartment space above. This was where Asra brewed all of his elixirs, potions, and dinners alike. It might as well have been an office of sorts, he thought.

“The countess is… becoming more demanding every day, I’m afraid. Determined to find the cure – or so she says. Curiously, the count seems as if he could quite frankly care less.”

Asra’s brow furrowed. His letter of summons from the countess rested on the table beneath Julian’s discarded jacket, the desperation in her neat, curling script coming to his mind now. “The countess is worried, but the count is not? That is strange.”

“Yes.” Julian sighed, sitting up and leaning forward, hands dangling in the space between legs that now spread. He folded his fingers together slowly, in increments. Asra could see the tension now beginning to ease into every line and plane of Julian’s tired body. “There have been even more deaths, a staggering increase in them, really. I…”

Julian looked over Asra’s shoulder, into the glare of the fire. It danced in his gray eyes, a waltz caught in eternal limbo, back and forth, the rise and fall.

“I am at the end of my rope, Asra. I fear that there is very little else I can _do._ All that I have researched has come up fruitless, all of my endeavors rendered useless and asinine. I try, and I try, and I try – to no avail. The bodies pile up, mocking me, whispering to me that I am nothing more than a crackpot falsifying himself as a doctor.”

The brutal honesty in Julian’s words knocked the wind out of Asra, his mouth hanging partially open as he gazed at Julian.

Quietly, the magician turned himself back around, unable to look at Julian any longer. This was not fair to either of them, to pretend that there was something between them more than what had been defined. They did not share things about themselves, and yet here sat Julian, stripped bare, down to the bone, the sinew, truth frothing forth as though Asra had any idea what to do with it.

Asra breathed in, deep, and peered mournfully into the low simmering of his brew.

“I am very sorry to hear that, Julian.” He said, voice betraying nothing of his concerns. There was that pain in his chest again, every nerve ending on fire, body unsure of what to do. Julian made the decision for both of them, moving from his chair to come to a kneel next to Asra’s.

This. This was familiar – admittedly _too_ familiar, in a way that stabbed Asra through what remained of his coal stained heart, eyes sliding to Julian’s face as he gazed up at Asra through his long, long lashes. Asra released his breath heavily.

“Something is wrong with you tonight.” Julian said, running a gloved hand along the top of Asra’s thigh gently. It should have been soothing. Instead, it felt burdenous, rooting, deadweight keeping him firmly in place.

Asra felt trapped. Julian’s poor situation made this all the more soured. Still, he could not prevent himself from petting a hand through Julian’s red hair, stab after stab shaving Asra down to the whittle as Julian leaned into the touch with a shuddering breath. Too much had passed between them, and Asra could not do this anymore, for more reasons than one.

“I am taking on an apprentice.” Asra wet his lips, gauging Julian’s reaction. Nothing more than a hum as he turned his face to press a lingering kiss to the palm of Asra’s wandering hand.

“Is that so? You will make an excellent teacher, I am sure.” Julian shifted his hand in askance, upwards, and Asra’s weakened breath caught in his chest as he was forced to cease the movement by dropping his own hand to cover Julian’s. He held it down.

Perplexed, Julian raised an eyebrow. So expressive, that face of his. Asra would be surprisingly sad to see it go, wouldn’t he?

The realization that he _would_ came to him, startlingly, and he felt overwhelmed by it.

There was a war waging within him. Tonight, things felt fine, but there was the constant heaviness in the air, one that perhaps Asra himself endured alone; a toxicity, a neediness that Asra could not return. Julian relied upon him, and Asra was… he could not be everything that Julian needed him to be, he had come to realize.

No, this wasn’t fair to either of them.

Unfair was the way that Asra released Julian’s hand and allowed himself to be drawn into the same storm of brimstone as always; he went willingly into the kiss that Julian beckoned him into with the upward turn of an expectant chin, shaking hands of monumental betrayal as he curled them to brace at the back of Julian’s skull as they kissed. His mind and body were dichotomous – his mind said _stop_ , while his body said _go_ , and _went_ , traitorously dragged from his chair and up the stairs, pressed into the wall along the way to be kissed and kiss in return, languorously, the illusion of time able to be spent forever like this. But the time had run out. The hourglass was practically empty now. 

Went down into the downy mattress, Julian steadied above him, listening as he always did to everything Asra demanded of him, going willingly as Asra flipped them and bore down and onto Julian.

Moonlight on his skin, the devil in his hands as he stripped Asra down, tore his skin off his body and burnt it to ash, touch by sensual touch, head thrown back as Asra took the pleasure _he_ wanted. He moaned in all the right places, burning Asra’s ears with the noise, almost disturbing Asra from the disastrous dissonance he had built, so that he had to vehemently wrap his trembling fingers around Julian’s throat and hold him down, hiss at him to shut up, to take it, to be good, to listen, to obey.

And Julian did, as always, exactly as he was told.

In the aftermath, there were no explosions, no screams as the world came to a grinding halt. It was the same as it had been every time before. Julian allowed himself to come down from the high or orgasm elegantly, beautifully, trading Asra lazy kisses in exchange for quiet murmurs of praise before rising from the bed to redress. Asra remained there, on his back, skin glistening with sweat and a splash of cum on his stomach and could not stop his mouth from moving.

“This has to be the last time.”

Just like that, and the dream was shattered, crumbling around the two of them like broken glass.

Julian’s hands hitched as they worked over the buttons of his shirt. Whole body frozen in time, and Asra closed his eyes. Could not bear to keep them open.

“My apprentice… it will be a demanding task to teach them. And the countess-”

“Has summoned you.” Julian’s laugh was stark, humorless, harsh, another stab. “Of course she has. The _plague_ _doctor_ couldn’t cure the _goddamned_ plague so might as well try and use magic to do it instead. Of course. So genius it's almost as if I had thought of it myself.”

Asra heard the fluttering of movement as Julian gathered the rest of his things from around the room, dressing succinctly, clinically, before his footfall carried him down the stairs and down to the shop. Asra threw on his tunic and nothing else, following him down to see him out and lock back up behind him. 

Selfishly, too, he wanted to see Julian one last time before he allowed him to slip away forever.

The curtain was falling back into place as Julian stepped out of the backroom once more, cloak in place, tailored to fit perfectly to his body, mask clenched in white-knuckled hands.

Arms crossed over his chest, Asra watched as Julian fought with himself over what, if anything, to say. Pain and anger ran rampant in his expression, a man that could not decide which of the two negativities were worse in their control. Finally, he settled on the anger, rounding on Asra with barely constrained fury.

“ _Why_ , then? You could have sent me on my way tonight, but you let me think that you…”

“I pitied you.” A lie. Asra’s tongue tasted acrid with it, throat tight on words he did not mean. But it was easier to say that than to tell Julian he had wanted him just one last time, for just one last tryst, selfishly. Julian had been selfish time and time again, what was one instance of Asra’s own need being placed forthright?

“Pitied me.” Tone flat, the anger in his voice so hot that Asra, had he been a weaker man, may have flinched beneath the strike of it. Sparing Asra no further glance, Julian brushed coolly past him to stalk towards the door, fabric trailing behind him like a ghost.

“Did you love me?” Asra asked, shocking even himself with the bold words. Julian’s hand went still on the handle of the door, body gone rigid. Asra was unsure of where the question had even come from now that it hung heavily in the air between them. It would not change anything, but he wanted to know. He wanted to _know._

“You would have me say it?” Julian asked, back still to Asra.

“I would not have you say anything.” Asra said, watching the minute shaking of Julian’s shoulders. Toxic, he reminded himself. They had become toxic. Julian had kept him stagnant. He needed to move forward, now. It was past time.

“No? You would not have me say that I would do anything for you, then?” Julian turned back around, chest heaving, face red with anger, and Asra felt small beneath his withering glare, the hate in his eyes like ice spread over his skin. They were of a similar height, but Julian seemed, in that moment, to truly tower over Asra in a way that made him feel exceedingly frail. Never before had Julian wielded his body like a weapon, but now he did, and what a truly sharp weapon it was.

“You would not have me say that I have loved you so deeply that it will certainly haunt me for the rest of my days, would you, _witch?”_

“Julian…”

The doctor took a step closer, and Asra surprised even himself by keeping his ground.

“Would you rather have me say that I will never forget what we have shared? That nothing could possibly rid me of the spellish snare you have cast around my heart?”

_“Julian.”_

A heavy hand fell down onto the counter next to them, ringing loudly in the shop, making Asra jump, Julian’s breath harsh and jarring in the wake of it.

 _“What,_ Asra? What do you _want?”_

 Too much, he longed to say. Too much, too little, of something that he could not have, and did not truly want – a conditioning, a lie, an illusion.

“Nothing.”

With another mirthless laugh, Julian turned from Asra and ran a hand down his face, glove mostly askew as he then pushed his fingers through his hair. He looked defeated.

He was, Asra realized. He had ruined him. Like taking a cigarette and putting out the butt on exposed flesh, Asra had scarred him. None of Julian’s words had been lies, not the ways that Asra’s were. It was honesty in the face of deception, challenged by it, and weathered down by it.

Julian pushed himself up from where he had slouched over the counter, face sliding into austere passivity as he turned back to Asra. His eyes did not linger, the passion gone from them. He walked back to the door and yanked it open, familiar with the way it would catch if not tugged just so, and Asra swallowed thickly.

“A want for nothing. Such a misery will kill you.” Julian said, clipped.

Asra struggled with his words for a moment, wishing he did not have to fill the void cast out to separate them, wishing that he could just let everything die, or turn back time before it had ever happened to begin with.

“You would have it no other way.” He said softly, and Julian was unerring in his response.

“Never.”

The door shut behind him as he disappeared back into the same inky night from which he had first apparated, the trinkets on the walls rattling at the final display of force. Silence hung gruffly in the shop, a bucket of cold water all over Asra. He locked the door, all three bolts, body numb to its actions. He went into the backroom and sighed. His brew had surely burnt. He would have to remake it in the morning before his apprentice arrived.

The flame was dim, but had not yet gone out, so Asra finished the job by extinguishing it, the last of the embers flickering lazily in the air.

In the dark, everything felt lonelier. An empty shop, though the force of Julian’s anger still clung to him like an aura. There would be new life here tomorrow. New life, a new path. This old one would soon be buried beneath the dead leaves of his memories, and this pain, too, would fade. This, all of it, was for the best for them both.

It occurred to him as he once again settled into bed, the first vestiges of sleep claiming him, that Julian had not asked Asra if he had ever loved him.

The truth was obvious, he supposed.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/occultened). yes, it is okay to request even though i'm locked. ♡


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